


Spring Awakening

by bravevesperian



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Non-Penetrative Sex, Open Relationships, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Seraph Sorey, Sexual Inexperience, SorMik, and flavors of SorMik though Dezerey will remain the focus, back from the dead, canon slow roasted and carved for juicy bits, dezerey, future chapters will involve, long-haired sorey, me ignoring the stinger ending, mostly canon, non traditional relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-27 20:59:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12590412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravevesperian/pseuds/bravevesperian
Summary: He wakes up to the most impossible face of all, and finally all that he felt can be resolved.-----From the moment that Sorey slipped past his defenses, Dezel gave him his loyalty, his knowledge, his hope -- his very life as a shield. Now, Sorey wants him to know that he'll gladly take his heart, too.A love born out of compassion and empathy, finally allowed to blossom-- but can Dezel let go of his former anger enough to move forward?





	1. Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> This is the start of a series I've been planning for a long time. I play fast and loose with Seraphic customs regarding relationships, and there will be a good deal of my take on that in upcoming chapters. If open relationships or aspects of polyamory make you uncomfy, this is not the fic for you (though it's not present much in this first chapter)
> 
> Sorey is also not a blushing naive uke boy, which is a characterization that I think is a complete injustice to his actual character, so don't expect that. 
> 
> This is really just a very personal exercise in exploring compassion and connection through physicality and sex, and how it means different things to different people. --And also Dezel deserved better and I'm going to give it to him damn it!! 
> 
> <3

Since Dezel had found himself somehow in one piece, he had wandered all over the continent trying to find out what had happened to his friends. The first time he had wound up in Elysia, he had been bombarded by an emotionally distraught Mikleo. He'd left the encounter wondering how the poor thing hadn't succumbed-- he was in no shape to be off on his own without a pure vessel, but it seemed that perhaps he had taken Zenrus' place, and that Elysia itself was likely exactly the pure vessel he needed. After trying to soothe the water Seraph's anguish, he had passed on through the ruins to the strange place that was the village of Camlann, frozen in time. There, amidst the grass and flowers was where he found him; like the carving on a tomb, but so very real-- flowers having sprung up in the long, chestnut waves that his hair had grown into. Sorey, their shepherd who had given all just as Dezel had. 

He thought he'd be prepared for the sight, but it had overwhelmed him. The wind Seraph had sat there beside the motionless figure of their friend and wept for some undetermined amount of time-- until Lailah had appeared for a visit. Shocked at his appearance, she had explained that he was only sleeping, _sleeping_ until Maotelus could reawaken. Evidently, Mikleo hadn't thought that was important enough to mention, or perhaps his mind was too wounded to revisit the information. 

Over and over, he witnessed the others pass through to visit as though they were visiting a grave after all, though Zaveid never did show his face. It wasn't his style, that grieving stuff-- and even Edna, far more mature than she had been the last time he saw her, gave him a pitiful sort of look and encouraged him to leave the place. She told him that he'd become a dragon just like Eizen. He didn't listen.

It took months before Dezel could convince himself to leave Sorey's side for more than a short walk, but he did eventually begin to try to face forward once more. They said it over and over: He might not wake up at all, and there are Hellions to protect the people from in the meantime. They moved around as though carrying Sorey's thoughts and hopes on their shoulders, as though they could act as his hand. There was something both holy and unholy about it, especially knowing that Sorey might not have always made a logical choice when intervening in human affairs and battling the powers that be. Luckily, Rose and Alisha had spent their years fostering peace that was long lasting, limiting the spread of malevolence and the outbreak of wars though-- humans were humans and nothing was perfect.

He had been gone with Laihlah and Edna when it happened. As far as he knew, Mikleo had been the first to see him-- but everyone _knew_. Any Seraph more than a day old would've felt the blessing of Maotelus fall upon the continent when it happened, and Dezel had never moved so fast in his life. He was sure he'd given the wind itself a run for its money in his race back to Camlann, sure that he'd miss him somehow-- sure that it was all a dream, or that Sorey would simply cease to be or some other horrible thing. But he found Sorey there, walking among the wildflowers he'd been sleeping in.

He'd wanted so badly to be able to see again, even if just for a moment. But the wind told him all he needed to know. Even as he caught his breath, he could feel Sorey turning to look at him, shocked and a bit lost. How could he be seeing Dezel right now? Mikleo finding him in the ruins as he tried to leave was one thing, but Dezel? It was impossible. Dezel had sacrificed everything for them. For Rose. For Sorey. For the future.

There were a million things he could have said, but as Sorey made his way to meet Dezel in the grass overlooking the village, the only words he could form fell from him in an incongruous torrent./p>

" _You saved my life_. I owe you, I owe you _everything_. " Sorey knew better than anyone that Dezel was the kind of person who only ever did what he wanted to do. It was a strange kind of stubbornness that the average human probably couldn't understand, least of all someone who was as naïve as Sorey. He did however have the advantage of knowing Seraphim slightly better than he knew any human though, and it showed. 

“I… did it of my own free will. You don’t owe me anything.” Dezel said stiffly– but there was an ache in his chest that gave away what he really thought. 

He wanted to be valuable to Sorey; to be _wanted_ by Sorey. That was something he couldn’t deal with on the surface and didn’t know how to face even if he tried. He pursed his lips and drew in a breath from his nose before venturing to speak further.  
“…Saving you was the reward, Sorey. I don’t think you get it. I’ll save you again. And again. That’s what I want.” And he knew Rose would’ve thought the same– part of what made him feel so sound and settled in it. Somewhere, those desires had become a bit warped; a bit more selfish than he’d like to admit but– he didn’t allow people to see the side of him that could want things for himself. He killed it silently in his own mind night after night. 

“Please, Sorey. Don’t look at me like I’m _something_ … my blessing’s no good. I’m not either, not really.” 

It was a typical thing for Dezel to say, so much so that Sorey nearly forgot just how strange and how wild the situation they were in really was. 

This conversation could have been a normal one; one had among friends, among the steps of a journey that had felt like it would never end. But... this was neither of those things. Dezel was a lone Seraph with no bonds and no direction, at risk of falling to malevolence. He and Sorey both echoed the same tale of simply 'waking up' one day—though Sorey's made more sense. 

Dezel wouldn't be the first Seraph to vanish or "die" only to reappear somewhere else at a later date as though he had somehow reconstituted himself out of sheer will alone. Though—it was arguable that he may have been the strangest; the most unlikely. He had been prepared to die, had almost welcomed it. Saw his own blessing as a curse. The world had no use for a Seraph like him. And now he wondered what he was, if he was _anything_ — 

Sorey had it perhaps even worse. He was awake alright, just as had been predicted some hundreds of years prior, as was Maotelus. The world was at peace, and they were for all intents and purposes reborn anew; but what did that mean? 

For what felt like ages before Sorey had awakened, Dezel had wandered, aimless and all but avoiding the other Seraphim he had come to know. He knew that Rose was long gone, as was the lady knight she had spent her years with. That was the way of humans—it was the natural thing, though it was always sad. 

"You're still saying that." It wasn't a question, but an observation from lips that still held a youthful pout despite the hundreds of years they now hid behind them. 

That vestige had always been an enigma. People treated Sorey like an uneducated country bumpkin when in reality, he had accumulated at least as much knowledge in his youth as some Seraphim who had lived the history he devoured in books and ancient accounts. 

"What else am I supposed to say? It hasn't changed. I haven't changed." The words carried Dezel's own sense of sharp finality, as it always was when he spoke of himself it seemed. Sorey didn't flinch. He found no malice in the words, and he could sense it as easily as the scent of the air ever since he'd awoken. 

"I'm glad! No one ever asked you to change, Dezel." Sorey didn't miss a beat with his rebuttal and he shifted, his arms crossed over his chest as his long hair caught in the wind. His weight shifted from one foot to the other, the feathers adorning his ears whipping about as shocks of gold in the chestnut of his hair. 

For a moment, the older Seraph was furious, but it deflated as though the wind that he was so closely aligned with had blown it away with his sigh. That anger was always directed inwardly, and no was no exception. 

Sorey was glad to feel the tension dissipate at least a bit, and he stepped closer to Dezel though his eyes were aimed outward at the landscape. It was only vaguely familiar now, as something seen in a dream. 

"I'm like you now. Well, kind of. Everyone talked about humans who had become Seraphim but no one really explained it. It... still doesn't make a lot of sense. But... we could all live together again for as long as we want, right?" But the truth of it hung silent in his words; that it wouldn't be the same without Rose and Alisha. But maybe 'the same' wasn't what they were searching for. 

Dezel felt the familiar hush of grass under his boots and let it ground him to where he was. The wind's movements told him how much longer Sorey's hair had grown during his long sleep (where was that damned Meebo, who supposedly kept it trimmed, anyway?) and how broad his shoulders had become. He had thought for sure that he was cursed when he came to, supposedly 'reborn' though his vision was not and-- 

It couldn't be a curse, not if he could see Sorey again. Over and over, he had gladly put himself between Sorey and danger. _"After me, Sorey--"_

It was easy to say that it was for that end goal, to find and end Symmone. 

But with that excuse long gone, and the newly born Seraph's hair caught in the wind with an intimacy that made it feel as though he could touch it just like that—he found it much harder to find an explanation. The power of the armatus, all of it was no longer an excuse for the bond that kept him rooted to the place where he now stood. 

"You're going to want to go find Mikleo soon," Dezel's turn to ask a question that was not a question. 

Sorey gave a small nod and turned to face his companion. "I could sense him there. He was there a lot with me while I slept. Everyone came to visit. I was never lonely." He mused. 

"Good," Dezel said it before he could stop himself. "I would... I would have. If I had. Been there." He offered haltingly through slightly gritted teeth. 

Sorey burst into laughter at that so suddenly that it made Dezel recoil, hanging his head a bit. Without his hat to force his bangs down into his face, it was harder for him to hide his emotions and he nearly missed it. Even though he trusted Sorey, it was hard not to suspect the worst; hard not to assume that he was laughing _at_ him-- 

But the Shepherd reached out and laid his hand on Dezel's arm, and he could feel his eyes burning into him even though he couldn't _see_ them. --And what a tragedy that the wind couldn't ever fully convey to him the intensity of the iridescent color Sorey's eyes had become in his transformation-- 

"I... Dezel, I know. You make such a big deal about making yourself look as bad as possible. But—I only remember your smile, and that you were more kind than anyone I knew... in your own way. You would have been there for me. I know that without a doubt so—so why are you being so hard on yourself?" 

The first thing Sorey had said was that he owed him everything. For him to insist on remaining so self-deprecating in the face of that was disrespectful, and he knew it. 

"Sorey, forgive me. I want to. Try to be. Better." He thought back on when they had first met properly down in those ruins, when Sorey had stood before him stammering and blushing and he had snapped at him about his intentions. Called himself a crummy Seraph. 

"Dezel, please." Anyone else likely would've gotten tired of it by now, even with the unusual vulnerability afforded to Sorey and Sorey alone, now that Rose was gone. 

Sorey was not someone who had it in him to tire of people—not like this. Not someone like Dezel. The older Seraph's breath caught in his throat as Sorey's hands moved up to cup his face, soft but with an insistence that made his skin tingle. The soft leather that covered one hand was a stark contrast from the warmth of his palm on the other side, and he focused on the differences as though that would keep him from saying or doing anything embarrassing. 

"I knew I wasn't... gonna die. But I remember thinking that you would be with me. That I'd go to sleep and I'd see you. I didn't know why. I don't understand it, but. I meant it with all my heart. I've never cared what kind of blessing or curse you walk around with. Not for a second." It didn't matter to Sorey; it never had. He'd been wary of Dezel for all of a day before he had fallen absolute victim to the truth that he hid beneath that sharp veneer. 

In the blink of an eye, Dezel forgot all of his self-pity with the skip of his heartbeat in his chest. It was as though it meant to remind him that it was real; that he was alive and Sorey was with him, even if no one else was. He brought his hands up to cover Sorey's as though he were afraid he might pull away, as though he couldn't remember the last time he welcomed the warmth and contact of another creature that wasn't an animal-- 

"You... you thought of me? I don't understand. I. Why?" 

Sorey laughed again, that sweet, chime-like sound as his thumbs brushed against the rise of Dezel's cheekbones. "I wish I knew. But I'm thinking about you now, too." 

There was gentle teasing in his voice, but Dezel could discern something more, though he couldn't put his finger on it. "I felt like I'd made a mistake, Dezel. I had to focus on my duty as the shepherd. What I wanted or felt or thought—none of it was more important than stopping Heldalf. But I... my biggest regret was that I thought I'd have plenty of time. Time to get to know you even more. Time to eat your cooking and learn everything you could tell me about all of the places and creatures in the Celestial Record." 

It was a knife in his chest to hear Sorey's voice break, laden with sorrow. Dezel couldn't have imagined his passing could have caused that in a million years. He'd always seen himself as so dispensable, as a tool with only one purpose of his own making. 

"It was... it wasn't like it was a mistake, Sorey. It's easy to forget about things like that when you're y'know. Literally living in the same body. Even for me. I felt so close to you that I didn't try any harder to reach out. I don't think I could have, knowing that I was ready to die to get back at that Hellion." Dezel said softly or—at least as softly as someone like Dezel could manage. 

"But... I don't have to live with that feeling of regret." Sorey continued. The moment of sadness had only lasted for a moment before he'd accepted things as they were. "Because... somehow, you're here now. I was... kinda scared I was imagining you at first. But I can touch you so. You have to be real, right?" 

"Sorey," Dezel's mind was a jumble of words, of thoughts that he couldn't bring to fruition. The fierceness with which he had always protected those around him had been selfless. He'd been afraid that something like this would be the opposite of that. 

But he didn't think it through, his impulsive nature letting him give in—to slip his arms around Sorey and pull him in closer. Dezel immediately buried his hands in the thick chestnut locks at the back of the newly born Seraph's neck, stroking through it in a motion that was meant to be comforting as he settled against his shoulder, a soft scoff leaving him that seemed to make it past all of the other possibilities of what could come from his racing mind: 

"What gives? You're almost taller than me, now." 

"Guess all that sleeping wasn't enough to stop one last growth spurt," Sorey mused as if that couldn't have been left unspoken. 

"Maybe you wouldn't have missed it if you hadn't been such a lazy-ass. C'mon, almost a thousand year nap? That's a bit much even for you, Sorey." 

It was probably the heady, adrenaline spike fueled moment getting the better of them, but even Dezel had begun to laugh as though some great weight had lifted from his shoulders all at once. There had been a time when he'd been sure that he had made sure that no one knew him; that the only thing they could know about him was his rage and vengeance. But as things turned out, Dezel had never been good at lying save to himself. 

"How long did you wait, Dezel?" Sorey asked suddenly as his nose bumped gently against the older Seraph's. 

"W-wait? I wasn't... waiting." It was a weak lie, and he knew it. The first thing he'd done upon finding himself in one piece was hunting down what the nearby humans and Seraphim knew about Sorey and more importantly—that he was alive somewhere. Dezel had planted himself in that ruined village as though he never planned to leave. Come to think about it, that might have something to do with the fact that he hadn't become corrupted with malevolence despite his nature. 

"Look, you gotta stop that. I know you were there. I could feel you. I thought I was dreaming, but you were there. Just this one thing Dezel, don't hide it. I want it too much." Sorey's earnestness made him nearly weak in the knees, and he only wound himself tighter around the Shepherd in response. 

"I... Sorry, Sorey." He stammered uselessly. "The truth is, I just end up getting so flustered. I can't help it, or the way you make me feel." He knew that that was too much, that going that far was only going to hurt—but Sorey shushed him gently. 

"I know. It's the same for me, Dezel. It's okay. Don't you see? There's nothing to stop us. You don't have to hold back anymore. Not ever again." 

Trying—Dezel had said he wanted to try to be better, and if what Sorey wanted was for him to stop holding back, then he'd give it his all. 

"Just... one thing Sorey. Can you. Say that again? That you want this? Whatever it is." 

Sorey wasn't like Dezel, so used to traversing a sightless existence. The tactile was still terribly important to him. To simply look at and touch the older Seraph was a blessing. Couldn't Dezel be his own blessing? Sorey supposed that was how anyone who held such strong feelings for someone might end up thinking. He took in the shaggy mess of silver and green, the delicate features—the silvery eyes that shone like stars. How many times had he looked at him before with some sense of longing? Far more than he might like to admit. 

Longing for Dezel to open up to him. Longing for Dezel to look at him (before he knew better). Longing for Dezel to offer his approval. Longing, _longing_ and no way to process it. 

"I want it. I want _you_. I want you to be here with me more than anything, Dezel." There were no words for how much losing him had broken his heart. How much grief he had cast aside in the name of being the Shepherd who ended it all. "Everything and everyone else can wait." 

Being anyone's priority was new territory for Dezel. He hadn't ever been anyone's priority-- not since he had lost everything and seen the Windriders lose it all along with him—but he knew sheepishly that there was no way he wasn't ever exactly that to Sorey. That was just the kind of person Sorey was. Dezel had clearly begun to retreat into himself again as his mind combated Sorey's gentle presence. It would be hard indeed, to teach him how to strike forth from that dark place in his mind that he spent most of his time in. 

The shepherd stepped back and took his hand, looking back at the now ancient village of Camlann, though it seemed as frozen in time as they were now. Dezel couldn't see it, but could feel it in the sun's rays on his face, in the whisper of the wind through his hair—Sorey's smile blazing at him like the sun itself. 

"You're not alone, Dezel. Walk with me for a while." 

And Dezel was sure in that moment that he'd have done anything at all that Sorey asked of him. 

With Sorey's hand in his, he didn't think twice about where they were going. He walked with him that way among the trees, and how much time passed didn't matter. Sorey asked about flora and fauna, and he responded with enthusiasm—several times, he thought, before he let the Shepherd lead him down the path into the old ruins, now older even still. The statues of Zenrus bore little to none of the detail they once had, eroded by time and the elements. New cave-ins made the passage difficult, but not impossible. 

"Part of me is afraid of what I'll find..." Sorey's voice echoing in the chamber was a familiar thing that made Dezel feel as though no time had passed at all. 

"Elysia is the same as ever. I had to pass through on the way up though—Their new leader is a real piece of work." He chortled, nudging Sorey along gently. The air in the ruins was stagnant as ever; not terribly conductive to his natural sense of things, at all. Dezel would be glad when they were out on the chilly plains of the home of the odd tribe of Seraphim who lived in houses. The wind there was so free, as if it didn't know anything of the strife of the world below—though he ha seen that that strife was significantly lessened from what he remembered. It would be a foreign place to him now, and Sorey as well. 

Coming up the final set of crumbling stairs, the sound of a waterfall that had once been little more than a trickling fountain in his ears, Dezel maintained his hold on Sorey's hand.  
He didn't need to be led. He had taken care of himself for years after losing his sight and his memories. It was really, almost an affront to the part of himself that stood for his independence and yet he had no real desire to disengage from it. 

A sense of finality settled on him as they finally passed into the clear air of the world above, as though exiting the debris of centuries shrugged him free of the myriad weights on his shoulders. It was over. He'd had his revenge, and he'd set his friends on the path to victory. As though Sorey knew where his mind was lingering, his voice made its way to Dezel's ears as he scanned the horizon's sparse trees and pale green grass. 

"We... wouldn't have been able to do it without you. What you did to save Rose? It was how we defeated the Lord of Calamity." Sorey raised his chin—or perhaps tilted his head, Dezel couldn't be positive. It was a movement that he sensed as prideful, rare in Sorey—save for when he felt pride in regard to those around him. 

"It wasn't in vain." Dezel said softly. "I held on tight in the wind. I wanted you to know I was with you." 

He couldn't remember that time very well, only that he clung desperately to the element that he was made up of, held tightly to the shining light that was Sorey. 

"I knew you were there... I knew it wasn't a coincidence. When the wind picked up in just that way." And that brought him a sense of peace he hadn't known he could experience-- that Sorey had sensed him there and known he was trying to reach out.

Sorey tugged him forward, and they continued to walk, and for once in the time since he'd lost his sight, Dezel allowed someone else to lead him, to let go of his iron grip of control and vigilance and simply trust. He had been sure that he'd be ready to die when his time came. He had put on a brave face for Rose. He didn't want them to grieve—but he found only sorrow in the end. He had wanted to be with them until the end. 

Up the worn old path, they made their way to the stone gate that was the entrance to the quiet village of Elysia. 

"My house is still here." Sorey commented, as though it were a simple matter of fact and not the realization that his place of residence was still standing—hundreds of years after he had fallen asleep. 

He made his way towards it, all but dragging Dezel along though at this point the Seraph seemed to more than welcome it; he relished in the thought just as he did the early evening breeze, surprised not only by the bubbling joy he felt in his chest but the way his cheeks hurt from smiling, as if they hadn't had any practice in it in his entire life. 

The sun was setting. Dezel could feel it on his back the same way he could feel the warmth of Sorey's hand thrumming through his fingers through his glove. 

On the way up to the village, which many people passed through to go and pay homage to the sleeping Shepherd (though it was mostly their friends) he had stopped by and spoken to the heir to Zenrus' legacy himself. It hadn't come up in conversation but—he had simply assumed that Sorey's house was maintained by said heir and their mutual friends who often passed through. It was strange to think about—that Sorey had been and always would be such a symbol of hope... but what about Sorey himself? 

Dezel had claimed to only care about the Shepherd's power, but that was an excuse that he hadn't managed to maintain for very long. He had become so invested that he couldn't even allow his soul to dissipate after death as he should have, and there was no denying that now. 

"Wait." Sorey stopped at the door, his expression tense. Dezel could feel it—his hand hovered over the latch to the entrance. "W-What if someone else is using it? What if it's. Y'know, off limits or something?" 

Dezel blinked dumbly, wondering if anyone had seen them wander into town and how long it'd be before someone took notice—or stopped by Camlann to find that Sorey was gone, or investigate Maotelus' presence. Being dragged back to the present by something like that left him a bit flabbergasted, and he found himself snickering to himself a the irony. 

"Well, open up and let's see." Dezel offered after a moment's thought. 

It seemed silly of him to be nervous about walking into his own house, but he supposed it had something to do with how much had changed. As Sorey's hand hovered in indecision, Dezel took a deep breath and the wind picked up-- 

When the door flew open, he ignored his companion's startled state, then blew past him with the breeze. It was the first time he had broken the hold Sorey had on his hand since they had began their ramble through the ruins. 

Sorey was only a bit shocked. Dezel was always independent and he knew that now, maybe better than anyone. He wanted him to see his worth, but continued to struggle with how to make him see it. Sorey had perhaps always been too stubborn for his own good—and he couldn't help but let Dezel lead the way, into a thick layer of dust on the floor. 

The shepherd found himself looking up, arms crossed over his chest. "New roof." He commented absently as though it were both obvious and terribly important. Sorey had learned everything first hand this way—everything that humans needed to know in order to survive. It seemed that he was a bit startled that so much effort over the many years had been put in just for him, so that he'd have a home to return to. 

He moved around slowly, leaving Dezel where he stood in silence as though waiting for something. Sorey lit the lamps, all in the same places he remembered them. Surely, this was Mikleo's doing. That didn't surprise him at all. Even his bed was more or less as he'd left it or—had it been replaced? He couldn't tell. 

"You'll... always have a place to return to, Sorey." Dezel finally spoke up, and Sorey stood behind him, arms slipping around the older Seraph from behind. He tensed for a moment before relaxing into the familiar and welcoming grip. 

"Don't say that as if you don't, too. I get it. I know everything is different and it's scary. And—the people we've lost? It's really sad. But I'm here. I cared then, and I care now. I want you to be here, Dezel. I want to be with you. We have plenty of time to catch up on everything else, okay?" 

Though the words were kind and genuine, they made Dezel feel as though he'd been torn to bits all over again. Before he could bite back the moisture building in his eyes, the shepherd's hands were on his face again, holding him tenderly in such a way that he couldn't make himself feel worthy of. 

It took him several ragged breaths; slow, and as sharp as the teeth in his mouth—to raise his own hands, pushing them gently back through Sorey's hair with much less trepidation than he had used the first time. He had always held himself back from touching him, but not now, not like this. The places where the pads of his finger and thumb were exposed through the vents in his gloves moved insistently over the features of Sorey's face, memorizing them in a tactile way that he had never allowed himself before. 

It was shuddering, and with a sense of gravity that the wind Seraph finally spoke again. "I want... I want to know what you look like without the wind telling me. I want to feel it." 

"You can know every part of me, Dezel. I won't hold anything back from you." It was Sorey's turn to skip a beat, to falter as his long lashes fluttered over his cherubic cheeks. "I wouldn't have wanted to, even back then." 

It was weird to think of so much time that had come and gone. Sorey knew he had matured by proxy—by being so close to Maotelus as though his aura had somehow dispersed some greater knowledge into him, but all they had gone through still felt so near. 

Dezel's blind movements weren't fumbling, but they spoke of hunger and, something about it sent a shiver down the shepherd's spine. He stood on his toes, hands coming up to lace at the back of the wind Seraph's neck before he used that leverage to gently guide their mouths together. 

At first, Dezel gasped against Sorey's lips as though he hadn't felt the kiss coming, as though he couldn't believe that Sorey was initiating it, and with such _electricity_ between them. He only missed the beat for a few moments before returning the gesture though he felt terribly clumsy at it. The flutter of heartbeat in his throat was deafening, and not even the wind could help him keep his bearings. Suddenly, Sorey was everything, and which way was up didn't matter. 

Sorey was nothing if not inexperienced, but any apprehension he felt had melted away at the warmth of Dezel's breath on his skin. Suddenly, everything he'd read in books about love and passion and this, this _physicality_ of it—made perfect sense in a way that it never had before. He had borne great love throughout his life, so much; but none of it, not for Mikleo or for Alisha or Rose—had taken quite this form. Maybe it could have, given time; maybe love and love and love were not so divorced from each other, but that was something to wonder about at another time. All that Sorey wanted to think about now in this moment, was Dezel. 

Dezel who had always been so broken, so lost even when he was so pointedly set upon his own path, and Sorey had ached for him; longed for him—fallen in love with every moment he surfaced beyond that broken façade to talk about the things he was passionate about: nature and history—not unlike Sorey himself. 

The kiss seemed laced with that taste of nostalgia, and Sorey's insistence had the wind Seraph stumbling aimlessly until he was driven up against the stone wall of the dwelling, his hands having gone from Sorey's hair to splayed on the masonwork behind him with a muffled sound of surprise. 

Sorey let out a bubbling peel of laughter muffled by their mouths, and Dezel couldn't help how utterly dumbfounded he was, lips parted and unseeing eyes staring with a sense of wonder in Sorey's general direction. 

"Dezel, your eyes are like starlight." Sorey breathed all at once, and his breath served as heat to thaw the cold that had frozen the wind Seraph for far, far too long. 

Rather than try to tackle the foreign realm of compliments from the getgo, Dezel responded by pressing his fingertips gently into the curve of Sorey's back through his cloak, urging him closer as he moved to secure another kiss, nipping gently at the shepherd's bottom lip. He drew in a sudden breath, perhaps because—gods they were as sharp as they looked and he _didn't hate it_. 

"Come to bed with me," Sorey breathed, hands having become greedy in the way they traversed Dezel's body. 

"I—But. I. If I were you I wouldn't want to sleep... ever again." Dezel offered slowly. He had an inkling of what Sorey _meant_ but he wanted to be certain. 

"Not to sleep, Dezel." The answer came as pointedly as he thought it might. His mouth felt suddenly dry, his palms sweaty but—it was always wrapped up in the same thing: What if he hurt him? What if he did something Sorey didn't like, what if he went too far too fast or maybe just as bad: Not fast enough? 

Again, he found himself gently led by the hand, and he was finding more and more that letting Sorey draw him towards their destination lifted some sort of weight off of him again. It seemed to be a theme, something that was new but more than welcomed. For the first time, he was beginning to trust what someone else intended for him. He _wanted_ to surrender to Sorey, wanted to let go. 

"Yes, Sorey--" He said it then though it was a terribly late response, and he wished that he could've been more assertive or more suave or, anything really. 

"Yes?" Sorey echoed it back with a sing-song tone laced with relief. He would've been embarrassed if he had it in himself to be. That was hardly a part of his naivety at all. Sorey had always been the type to simply do as he liked, or at least as he felt was best. And so he echoed the word again with further emphasis and a gentle nip to Dezel's ear. " _Yes_." 

The confirmation came with another bubble of chiming laughter as he pulled Dezel with him and then sank onto the old feather mattress in the side room. It smelled of dust, but seemed to be perfectly sound—and that was good enough for him. 

It took Dezel a few moments to catch up, and settling down on his knees next to the weight that was Sorey had his heart racing. This was really happening. All of that self-loathing he'd held onto for so long, all of it spent and burned away. If he was worthy to Sorey, then he was worthy, gods he was **worthy** —as worthy as Sorey was **Holy**. 

He paused and tried to get a feel for where he was, to get a bearing on the air in the room, anything. He'd been here before if only briefly, and he tried to conjure up memories of the place to the best of his ability-- as though mapping out the humble abode might somehow keep him calm. Sorey's eager impatience was distracting though, and kept stunning him into disbelief. 

Sorey knew that despite his tough exterior that Dezel wasn't good at initiating things. He'd avoid everything a hundred times over and just let it go before he actually confronted anything. Probably didn't think of himself as worth the trouble. For a moment, the shepherd wondered if he was being too pushy, but wanted to take the lead. Dezel shouldn't have to feel like he was begging for anything. Sorey wanted him to know fully and emphatically that he was wanted, and he hoped that everything he had read would be enough to make him capable. 

It was Sorey who made the first move towards what he had suggested—his hands pushed under the edges of Dezel's jacket, nudging it until it fell loose and pooled around his wrists. There was no resistance, and Dezel's soft sighs as he worked his way free and began peeling his way out of his gloves was encouragement enough. Next came Sorey's cloak and the shepherd's glove, discarded with his sweater and bracers. 

Sorey had become so eager to remove the barriers of their clothing that he didn't think about the state of the pile he was leaving on the dusty floor. Dezel shivered visibly when the soft fabric of his shirt was twisted up and over his head, leaving him exposed. There were scars, littered here and there, but Sorey thought nothing of them but to lean forward and caress them. 

Somehow, Dezel looked suddenly quite a bit younger than he had appeared usually—the way he presented himself. There was something terribly vulnerable about him like this, and in a way it felt like they were brought onto some more level footing. Sorey shrugged out of his under shirt and directed his attention to pressing their skin together. 

It was _electric_ like nothing he'd ever felt—like no magic or power could ever be. A soft, tremulous sound fell from his parted lips, and the sound alone seemed to draw a groan from Dezel. He had gone still, almost strangely so—as he waited for—well, what he wasn't sure. Every touch that Sorey lavished upon him _unworthy_ , **unworthy** : _**worthy**_ —was some mix of fire and ice and pleasure and agony all at once. Agony, if only because he couldn't stop himself from the constant combat inside of his own head. He didn't deserve this affection, this attention. Not from Sorey. 

There was no time to dwell on that, not with the earnest heat of the shepherd's mouth on his skin, making its way down his bare chest. Dezel realized then his utter helplessness (a silly notion) suddenly acutely aware of his lack of vision; suddenly acutely aware of everything. 

" _Sorey_." A ragged breath as lips and teeth grazed his navel, had him trembling. Was this weakness? It was likely that the Dezel of the past would have thought so. But now, he wanted nothing more than to give in. If nothing else, he'd tell himself it was for Sorey. He would offer himself up to the holy of holies, their walking, breathing messianic sunshine. 

"Is this good? Is this okay?" The soft voice, familiar in its timbre but so foreign in its tone—snapped him back to focus. 

"Yes, gods yes--" He would hold nothing back, not from Sorey when he asked so genuinely. 

"Good," A breath of relief and then a hand pressed gently to Dezels' chest, nudging him to lay back. He did as was urged and took a slow breath as he felt Sorey move over him to straddle his thigh. A moment later, fingers were hooked under the thick belt that kept his brushed leather trousers in place, and he obediently lifted his hips to allow Sorey to go further. 

A part of Dezel balked at the idea—but he wasn't afraid of Sorey. He feared only the most nebulous suggestion of rejection and that was something that Sorey would never subject him to. 

The sound of Sorey's breaths and sighs thrummed through Dezel as though they were their own electric current, and he caught himself squirming, desperate for more touch that Sorey seemed perfectly happy to provide him with. He had for a few moments, been certain that he could somehow keep a sense of dignity in-tact, but the moment that the shepherd's dexterous fingertips found his hardening erection, a keening whimper left him, and any thoughts of control were lost. 

Sorey knew in the back of his mind how pent up someone like Dezel probably was, how much he had to be holding back. The idea of being the one to offer him release had him hard enough that his pants were suddenly nearly unbearable, his only relief to rut shamelessly against Dezel's thigh. 

"I—Can't believe—you're so unbelievable, Sorey--" A jumble of words, breathy praise as he arched into the experimental touches. 

The shepherd was unsure at first, but quickly found a more firm grip in his languid strokes. Dezel's hands had balled up in the old woven blankets beneath him, but the tantalizing sensation of Sorey's warm heat pressed into his thigh was too much to ignore. 

He could sense the concentration, how intent he was on making this about Dezel and Dezel alone—but the wind Seraph just wouldn't have it. His hand loosed itself and slipped between them to cup and squeeze at him, voice husky a moment later: "Take it off," 

Sorey whimpered, the reaction to the older Seraph's command something he'd explore later. For now, he did as he was told by disengaging enough to lift up and unbutton his slacks before peeling himself out of them. 

Dezel immediately pulled him back down and into his lap, Sorey's long chestnut hair spilling around them like silk. A more experienced hand came to grip them both in his fist, and Sorey threw his arms around the other Seraph's shoulders to ground himself. Unabashedly, he rolled his hips into the grip with abandon, thighs flexing and quivering with his pointed movements. 

And Dezel's expressions were incredible—the way his lips parted as he gasped, teeth gritted now and then, face flushed and starlight eyes gazing at him almost as if they could see him for real—Sorey tried to bite back anything that would make him embarrass himself and lose it too soon, but it was so hard with the tension built so much already. His grip on Dezel's shoulders tightened until his fingers ached, and he knew he had to be digging his nails in, but he didn't seem to mind. 

"I – I can't—gods, _please_." Sorey's own disjointed cries became desperate please, and Dezel greedily kissed at his mouth and throat, lapping up his words as though they were water. 

"Don't hold back, love. Just let it take you." Soft and warm, and—the maddening way that Sorey moved against him, he knew he wouldn't last long either. Why try, when there was no judgment, only the seeking of mutual pleasure. 

He could feel Sorey's muscles trembling, tightening as he drew closer—and it only drew him to tighten his grip, to stroke them faster. The shepherd's cry was muffled in his shoulder as he came, movements erratic. The sensation of his orgasm gushing over Dezel's skin was more than he could take, and though it took him several moments more, he followed suit with a low growl before burying his face in Sorey's shoulder, holding him tight around the waist as they both came down from the messy high. 

The world had stopped if only for a few moments, or maybe it was hours—it was hard to tell. Seraphim didn't care much about time, in the traditional sense of the word after all. Still catching their breath, they disentangled from each other long enough to turn on their sides, pressed close as fingertips gently traced the shapes of each other's bodies. 

There was quiet for a long time before Sorey spoke. "I... I don't think I would've been able to do something like that with everybody else around," 

Of course he meant when they had last known each other and he had been human—and a vessel for three other Seraphim from which he never had peace or privacy. Dezel understood immediately. 

"Maybe... it was meant to be." Maybe he wasn't cursed, after all. Or at least—not since coming back. 

"I want to do it again." 

Dezel's brow shot up, and he blinked. "Already?" 

"Well, I could—but n-not right now. I just mean. I don't want this to... to be the only time." Sorey blundered through his announcement, making Dezel chuckle. 

"I think I could live with that." He was still a bit afraid, especially of how things might change when Sorey directly reunited with a certain water Seraph, but for now and perhaps for the first time since he had begun his vendetta against Symonne, he could rest.


	2. Stages of Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peace is as a soft and warm embrace, succor for the wounded-- but nothing can last forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very idealized idea of a triad relationship. They never form this smoothly in real life, unless all members are in the perfect places in their lives. It's fun to dream though, and to see such tenderness between these three. :3 
> 
> What _is_ Sorey spending his time doing? That's a mystery for another day...

The promise of restful sleep seemed to be too much for Sorey to resist despite the fact that he'd just had a millennial siesta, and the morning light came altogether too soon, not that they noticed within the confines of the stone dwelling's familiar embrace. It's likely that he and Dezel might have stayed in bed all day if not for the rather loud intrusion that came just after the sun had peaked in the sky. 

Sorey barely had time to jump into his pants, and Dezel wasn't so lucky, scrambling without his sight as he pulled the blankets up around him in the meantime. He was used to being ahead of the curve, to the wind itself making sure that he missed nothing. He rarely slept so heavily or soundly, and could only blame his fumbling on that. 

The shepherd was on his feet, rather calmly it seemed—as he met the blustering form of his childhood friend. He put together some of Dezel's off-handed comments from the night before, about Zenrus' heir being a real piece of work—and realized he must have meant Mikleo. He'd seen him briefly after his awakening, but had asked to be left alone while he went to speak with Maotelus one-on-one. 

"I told you I'd come down when I was ready, Mikleo." Sorey said, though his voice was light and reedy and well—Dezel could read his embarrassment a mile away. 

"I thought some hooligan had broken in and was squatting your place. Why didn't you stop by and say... hello?" Dezel didn't need to be able to see in order to know that Mikleo was staring past Sorey now, as the wind Seraph tried to find his clothes by touch alone, still clutching the woven blanket to himself. 

The silence grew heavy and he continued going about what he was doing, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

"I didn't know he was with you," Mikleo finally continued. Sorey had gone oddly quiet, and Dezel didn't know if he should be worried. 

Though really—he should've known. Dezel had been a bump on a log waiting for Sorey for ages. He just... hadn't expected to see Sorey _like this_ with... anyone else. 

Mikleo pushed his hands back through his bangs, a deep breath punctuating violet eyes wandering between the two. Just when Dezel was sure that he couldn't stand it anymore, Sorey finally spoke up. 

"I... yeah. I know. It's... complicated." It was a meager explanation, but it seemed to suffice. Sorey had pulled his T-shirt on with a hush of fabric as he urged Mikleo into the main room to give Dezel the privacy he needed to collect himself and get dressed. 

The water Seraph had always been someone who was quick to anger, quick to jump to conclusions, but he seemed to be waiting for more, for anything to be made clear to him. Perhaps it was a sign of maturity gained over time, or simply that this didn't hold the same weight that the nervous wind Seraph in the next room feared it did. 

"I could have told you that you had feelings for him, Sorey." Mikleo said softly. There was a kind of longing in his tone, an anxiousness that he tried to avoid as though it could make him look less uncertain. 

"If you knew, why do you look so upset?" Sorey asked. 

Dezel had gotten redressed at that point, but he remained seated on the edge of the bed, waiting. He knew they knew he was listening—but as was in his nature, he didn't want to interrupt. The wind Seraph feared what was coming; how he didn't want to lose Sorey when he'd just been able to finally be with him in the way he'd wanted deep down-- but also wouldn't dare take anything away from Mikleo. 

Seraphs were for all intents and purposes immortal, or at the very least incredibly long-lived. The way they loved and approached relationships was not exactly like the ways of humans. Often things were left unspoken, the same kinds of rules not in place. And certainly-- a Seraph would never seek to own another outside of play, or performative conjecture-- 

"I don't know." Mikleo offered in return, short and clipped as he was wont to do. "I. Didn't think I'd feel like this. But you've been gone for so long, Sorey. I just." He trailed off, shaking his head. 

"It was a long time ago. But we talked about this. Right? We'd never leave each other behind. That hasn't changed. I don't think Dezel would disagree." Sorey threw his glance over his shoulder, and Dezel felt it as though it was a blow. He did his best not to recoil or show his discomfort. 

"I don't want to. Intrude." He managed after a few minutes, getting to his feet shakily to come and lean against the stone arch that served as the border between the two rooms. 

Dezel could feel Mikleo's eyes on him—sense the intensity even though the wind could only whisper so much. The sound of heavy footfalls across the old hardwood floor left him tensed up, prepared for a blow, but instead, he felt arms come around him to pull him into a tight embrace. 

"I dunno why you always think like that. Dezel, It's like a miracle that you're here." He began, all in a rush the way Mikleo was known to do. "I'm scared 'cause even though we'd always just let things go, I've always had Sorey to myself since we were little, in like. Every way, y'know? But I trust you." 

Mikleo had prepared himself for this for over a year, maybe longer. He knew without a doubt what Dezel's feelings were; they were obvious. And he had known before Sorey went to sleep that he'd had feelings for the Wind Seraph as well. The only person who hadn't noticed back then, he thought, was Sorey. And how could he? There was so much for him to focus on. There wasn't any time for any real relationship, even between himself and Mikleo. 

Dezel's shock radiated into the tenseness he felt, but—he relaxed as his own nature, the natural bent he had towards nurturing others—lead him to smooth his hand through the younger Seraph's hair, careful not to dislodge his ponytail. Well. He wasn't angry, and this wasn't a terrible feeling at all. Mikleo's cheek pressed to his was cool and soft, a sensation he thought was altogether different from the radiant warmth that was Sorey—but not bad at all. 

"I don't... want to take anything away from you." Dezel managed after a few moments. 

"Everything's all jumbled. It's— _you_. No one could've imagined you'd come back somehow. It doesn't make sense, but. I'm glad, okay? Don't think I'm not." Mikleo continued, and shifted away from Dezel only for Sorey to press in close to them, his arms around them both. 

"See? We're all glad you're here." It was... a little much. Dezel chuckled sheepishly, a bit lost on how to respond to everything, though he did manage words after a little while. 

"When I came up here, I was sure you'd hate me waiting around for Sorey... But that's what we have in common the most, isn't it? That we both love Sorey." Best to make it plain, he imagined. 

"That's... definitely true." Mikleo managed, stammering and hiding his obvious flustered state by burying his face in Dezel's shoulder. 

The moment seemed nearly frozen in time, a sense of closeness that Dezel thought someone like he would never get a chance to experience—and like this, he'd never imagined it. He'd always felt close to the two of them, especially as they journeyed further together, but Dezel could never allow himself to find any solace beyond the promise of vengeance. It was a horrifying cycle that he'd never been able to break—but now, surrounded only by acceptance well, he hardly knew what to do. 

"And you have my love. _You have my love_..." Dezel felt himself smile again at the emotion in Sorey's voice. He reached up to ruffle his hair and lifted his head only to press a kiss to each forehead lingering so close to him. 

"Sappy," He commented derisively, though it was playful—and pulled away from the both of them to stretch and regain his bearings, which got a wave of laughter from the younger two. 

There were no promises or vows spoken, only understanding; deep and honest—which was truly more powerful than either. To be unbound, yet anchored was a kind of freedom that was going to take some getting used to. 

In the quiet, eternal life of Seraphim, life was often about finding things to spend time doing, about seeking out things to quell the quiet boredom of time stretching onward. This was perhaps why some Seraphim deigned to offer their blessings to places inhabited by humans, and why others travelled with them instead. Dezel had always preferred the latter; after all, his blessing was no good for keeping Hellions at bay, and he had been terribly young, by the standard of Seraphim. But for now, for once—he didn't mind the idea of staying put for a while. 

A fire was started in the hearth, and Sorey and Mikleo swept up the dust and cleaned while reminiscing. When the girls came through next, they'd be thrilled—and would Zaveid visit any time soon? Would he give Dezel his hat back? 

The wind Seraph in question had been sitting contentedly in his place on the floor, a cup of hot tea to warm his hands as he listened to the other two muddle about reminiscing. Sorey ended up taking stock of his favorite books, and the simple calm that it brought over him continued to be a point of fascination. 

When everything was in its place, Dezel offered to make dinner though Sorey didn't have to eat anymore—probably. They weren't sure about any of that yet. It was one of those things that had simply become habit, to revolve around the rhythms of the humans they were close to. 

"How did you learn to cook?" Mikleo's musing drew his attention. He was sure they'd talked about it briefly before, but he hadn't brought up much about his past. 

As he tilted his head, hands moving with practiced grace, He rolled his shoulder in a shrug. "I watched Lafarga and the Windriders, mostly. After that it was... by feel and smell—and the wind helps." 

It was still hard to talk about, he realized—after having had his own memories muddled, Dezel nearly felt guilty thinking back on the whole truth. Sorey joined Mikleo as Dezel finished up, leaving the simple soup he'd settled on to simmer (Mikleo had gone dashing around the village to find ingredients) and he sat across from the other two, legs folded as he considered them, expression thoughtful. If one hadn't known any better, it would seem that Dezel could see fine, and he was simply watching the other two curiously. 

"What was Lafarga like?" Sorey asked after a few moments of quiet had passed.   
Mikleo turned to look at him, expression sharp as though to admonish him for asking something so sensitive, but Dezel didn't seem to mind. Before, it might have been one of those off-limits sorts of question, but he was making a conscious effort to be more open now. Dezel was quiet for a bit, and he passed his fingertips over the soft brushed leather that covered his knee, feeling at it in a habitual pattern through the vent in his gloves. 

Sorey fidgeted with one of the feathers that rested against his wrist, running his fingers through its incorruptible barbs. Dezel had always wondered how the feathers didn't get dingy or wear thin, though he supposed it had something to do with the nature of the Shepherd's power. He took a deep breath, knowing he was stalling, and began to speak. 

"Well, what is there to say? Lafarga was wise and kind. He'd give you the shirt off of his back. Growing up I thought Zaveid was pretty cool, but when I went off on my own, I wanted to be my own person, y'know? Lafarga and I went everywhere with the Windriders. I was there when Brad adopted Rose. We... just wanted to protect them, y'know? But the Hellions... there was no way they could know. And why would you suspect someone you trusted? It's... not like we could warn them." He shook his head, knowing full well that he'd gotten off track. 

"No, it's okay. Take your time. You don't have to talk about it now. I just. Let my curiosity get the best of me." Mikleo shifted forward, and he took Dezel's hand in his. The shift made the curls of his silver and aqua hair fall over his shoulder, head lowered a bit. 

"I... used to get really mad that we didn't know about you and where you came from and stuff. But now I realize—you weren't really hiding. You let us know you pretty well actually. And really? The past doesn't matter all that much." A sense of relief washed over Dezel as Mikleo spoke, and he almost laughed out loud. Time was something he needed. Going at his own pace was important, if he didn't want to end up frustrated and talking in circles. 

Sorey smiled, stretching out a bit from where he watched them, a warmth settling in his chest. The Shepherd had been worried at first, but this was definitely the best possible outcome. He knew he'd acted rashly, and probably should have talked to Mikleo first. Despite the fact that their 'agreement' was perfectly and completely open, he knew the water Seraph better than anyone; and that he was prone to jealousy. But—it seemed he really had grown up quite a bit and learned to work through those things a little better: a relief. 

When he came back from his thoughts, Mikleo was—rather conspicuously curled in Dezel's lap, and he laughed. "You're gonna distract him and dinner's gonna burn." Sorey chided playfully. 

"Oh, shut up! You got him all to yourself yesterday. I'm ready for some 'look, Dezel's not dead' quality time too, Sorey." He sniped. 

From where his chin rested on the water Seraph's shoulder, Dezel gazed just past Sorey—so close to seeing and yet seeing nothing. His expression was something like Sorey had never really seen before; it was serene, as though the turmoil in the wind Seraph's tumultuous soul was far, far away. The only way he could think to describe it was a sense of peace. Peace: something that Dezel had only known for a short time in order to have it ripped away. The realization struck him viciously, like a blow, like a gust of icy wind that took your breath away. 

He swallowed to hide his hammering heart and the way it made his face turn red. Usually, someone would think of blushing as being a sign of embarrassment or bashfulness, but it could just as certainly be a sign of other things as well. He stood and crossed the room casually, only to reach out and pass his hand through both of their hair. 

"Take your time, Mikleo." He urged gently, before joining them in the quiet—with nothing but the crackling fire and the reassurance of their own breathing in his ears. 

\---------------------------------------------------- 

The moon rode high over Ladylake, the hiss-and-pop of a dying campfire echoing over the plain. Edna sat with her parasol over her knees, taller now—though her sense of self hadn't changed one bit. Lailah's folded hands tightened, knuckles whitening as she let out a sigh. 

"It seems that no matter how we work against it, and even with Maotelus' blessing... there's no stopping it." She said. 

"Yeah, it's our fault. We should've kept our big mouths shut about the Shepherd. Should've just said Sorey bit it in a big blaze of glory, for his sake." Edna responded, absently tapping the tip of her parasol against the ground. 

"But... It gave the people hope. Without knowing that: Sorey will be back! Well... the hope helped hold back the Malevolence all that time." Lailah rebutted, her aqua eyes turned back towards the fire. Familiar, unchanging just as every one was different. --Much like the Shepherds she'd seen rise and fall in the many years since Sorey went to sleep. 

"None of them were as good or as effective as him huh?" 

"Edna, don't say that!" It was cruel, but—Edna was the type to speak the truth no matter how cutting it was. Lailah looked away, expression weary and distant. 

"But it's true, and you know it. Lancel over there can't hold a candle to what Sorey managed. And he's been listening to _them_ so there's no tellin' what he's going to do." Edna continued, a sense of foreboding in her proclamation. 

"Okay ladies, can we like... please think about getting some shuteye? Yeesh, how's the poor guy ever sleep with you two blabbering on and on inside his head?" A flicker of light, and Zaveid joined them from his place inside of the current Shepherd, where their other companion, Uno seemed... less inclined to involve himself in their affairs. 

"He can't hear us when he's out here, idiot." Edna snapped, though she quickly deflated. "Sooo, maybe you should explain why you decided to give your eaves-dropping away. Or maybe you're just that dumb. Probably." 

"Cold as ice. You sure you're an Earth Seraph?" She whipped her parasol up as though it were a lance and prodded it into Zaveid's side. 

He winced and hissed, dancing away to stand on the other side of where Lailah was sitting, lost in thought. 

"Don't you ever get tired of it though? Shepherdin' Shepherds. Something's gotta give." The wind Seraph mused, tipping the hat on his head down to shade his eyes as though that might hide his expression. 

"It's not that I don't get tired. It's not like... this isn't trying. Of course it is. But we must... We must keep things on track." Lailah said tersly. 

"Do we even know what "on track" is anymore? We made it, end game and all that. Maotelus' blessing is doing its work... or should. But—the church isn't gonna just let the institution of the Shepherd disappear. You know what they're saying. They don't trust anything but the system they've known all this time." Zaveid had a habit of suddenly dropping the air-head act and piercing right to the heart of the issue like the wind he wielded. 

Edna had gone silent, the argument one that she didn't want to make her side clear on just yet—and as Lailah drew a shaking breath to rebut the whole thing, the one they'd called Lancel before turned over, scuffing gravel with his boots as he blinked blearily, confused. 

"Guys? Is everything okay?" Zaveid's pointed stare broke away from the Fire Seraph, and he smiled at the young man before ruffling his hair. 

"Sorry 'bout that. Us old farts were just getting heated about politics." He explained before returning to his place inside of the Shepherd without another word. 

" _Again_?" The groggy Shepherd asked, grinding the heel of one hand into his eye. 

"Now, now. It's alright. We'd best get some rest before we move on." Lailah said cordially. 

"Yeah but—when do we get to meet Maotelus and Shepherd Sorey? They're awake now, right--?" 

"And you shouldn't be." Lailah nudged Edna, who vanished a moment later as she too, merged back into her place within Lancel. 

She continued her song and dance, continued carrying the heavy burdens—and for what? Now it was for only one thing: to protect Sorey. 

\------------------------------------------------- 

Dezel thought he might get lost amid the cascade of chestnut, gold, silver, and blue waves surrounding him. He was sure to get lost in the smooth skin, fingertips protectively holding to his arm, intertwined with his-- 

Again he had to remind himself that he wasn't alone when he woke up. It was so foreign, even now, that the days whiled away wrapped up in Mikleo and Sorey seemed to blend into each other. He'd spent so much of his long existence full of bitterness, and yet slowly, bit by bit, he could feel the weight that had been like concrete cementing his feet crumbling away. Every time he heard Mikleo try to mimic one of Lailah's puns—every time Sorey touched his face and reminded him, rather sappily, that he wasn't alone—it was a chisel and hammer. 

The wind Seraph blinked himself awake and pressed a kiss to Mikleo's (suspiciously visible) forehead, grazing the gem of the circlet he wore before turning to do the same to Sorey where he lay on the other side of him. It was a small habit he'd made in the past days, and he took a moment to simply bask in the warmth. There was little he could do other than thread fingers through Sorey's hair, lamenting that he couldn't see it with his own eyes—not knowing that if he did, he'd notice a shock of grey appearing at the top of his head. 

Groggy, Mikleo's voice interrupted the wind Seraph's thoughts. "It's not fair," 

"Can't sleep in forever." Dezel chided. 

"Not that, it's just. How can you look like that even when you first wake up?" He sighed, resting his chin on Dezel's shoulder. 

"Like... what?" He sounded utterly baffled, but was genuinely flattered. 

"Like. That. Just. You." He spelled out word by word, lips pursed though Dezel couldn't see. 

His teeth flashed in a grin, menacing as it always was—that he couldn't hide. "Okay okay—" 

Sorey was sure that if he didn't hate waking up, he'd probably have burst into laughter at the exchange, but he was far too busy being grumpy. 

"S'it morning already?" He complained. 

"Yes, Sorey." Dezel responded, amused. 

The struggle to get out of bed had little to do with the fact that the three of them were rather tangled up in each other and more with the fact that no one could keep their hands to themselves. As though they were all school-boys with crushes and too many hormones, it had proven a trial to stay out of bed just... in general. 

But, repeatedly they found themselves met with the strangely satisfying question of: "What's stopping us?" 

The answer was generally a tie between nothing and _common decency_ \-- 

A part of Dezel knew that he was living a dream. He knew that something like this couldn't last, not for Seraphim or Human. The world was not so gentle, even with Maotelus in it. 

That didn't stop him from committing to it though, and he was settling into a new routine. He got up before noon if Sorey could be roused. Mikleo had sheepishly gone digging into a shelf to present him with one of his own pendulums that the water Seraph had evidently taken or begged off of Zaveid— _for Sorey_ , he'd said, because he'd have wanted it when he woke up. With it back in his possession, he'd been doing the hunting for the village along with some others. It kept him busy while Mikleo saw to the affairs of the village and Sorey occasionally disappeared to the temple past Camlann for long periods of time. 

It was a simple existence. He walked the fields hunting Prickleboars and then fell into bed with the ones he loved. It was strange to think of himself that way, loved and beloved. 

Dezel sat at the communal fire with several other Seraphim who talked with him about the world while he had been away, doing the work of tanning hide and portioning out meat. It was a strange thing to be part of, the wind directing his hands—when he knew that Seraphim did not need to eat; were not even compelled to beyond the taste itself. It seemed they had long taken up this as a custom that had begun when Sorey was a child, and continued it in his honor. 

It had been somewhere close to week now, that he'd been living there among them—when the first group he'd seen outside of Camlann came through. 

The group of pious humans came up through the ruins like many before them. It had been what Dezel almost thought of as a secret paht that only they and Sorey and Mikleo knew. Now, it welcomed pilgrims quite regularly. 

As did the village of Elysia and Camlann. People often stayed in the desolate village, though none had dared to make themselves permanent residents. They came to worship Maotelus and the sleeping shepherd, though they would find the glen conspicuously empty. 

Dezel felt the wind and listened as they came, bowing before the Seraphim—and he found himself more than a bit startled when they interacted with them, could speak to them—clearly saw and perceived them normally. 

Mikleo came down from Zenrus' house as soon as he was informed about the presence. He welcomed them and sent one of the young Seraphim to show them to where they could refill their water skins and rest. Dezel lingered nearby, seeking and sensing his energy and the way he carried himself. It was... an impressive change. 

The sun was nearly always bright in Elysia where it sat above the clouds, and Dezel found the warmth on his clothes comforting, though the idea that the humans could just... see him was not so comforting. 

" _Do you think humans and Seraphim will ever live together in peace?_ " He remembered the conversation as though it had been just yesterday. The question had come up over and over, with Lailah's optimism grating against his skepticism every time. While the other Elysians rushed to meet the humans, talking and laughing—exchanging gifts and food—Dezel remained a bit shellshocked, hanging back. Perhaps it was in part because he could only identify voices and smells, and the shape of the wind against them— 

"Are you okay?" Mikleo sidled up next to him, having escaped the fray. 

"When did this happen? They can... see us?" Dezel managed after a few moments. 

"Yep. Ever since Sorey went to sleep. Guess it's part of his blessing. He also granted Lailah the power to make other people his squires while he was sleeping." 

Dezel listened and shook his head slowly at the realization, teeth gritted. "The strain on him—it has to be... unbearable. Did she think about that at all?" 

Mikleo's hand came to rest on Dezel's shoulder, grip gentle and firm. "I... don't think anybody liked the idea. But. We had to bring people to worship Maotelus and while he was sleeping it was... well, it was a risk and he was prepared for it." 

"Just using Sorey up for the sake of Maotelus' blessing..." It came out as a snarled hiss, and he nearly pulled away from Mikleo he was so agitated. 

The wind brought the smoke of cookfires to his senses, the relieved laughter of humans who had made the difficult climb up the mountain to see the source of their fervent faith. So—they'd managed to influence the building of an entire religion around the holy dragon and his pure vessel. He hated that Maotelus hadn't interacted with them at all. He still knew all but nothing about him, and Sorey had been oddly close lipped about it too. The more he thought about it in that moment, the more that he felt as though something was very wrong; a creeping sort of wrongness that made him clench his jaw. It wasn't like he was so selfish to think that anything could last forever, but this peace was something that he hadn't known since he was virtually a newborn. He would not relinquish it so easily. 

To hide the distress on his face, he turned away from Mikleo slightly, arms crossed over his chest. "I'll protect Sorey. No matter what it takes." 

"...I believe you." His tone said that he understood—that that meant not only from what the world would consider bad things, but from the world itself as well. 

"It's hurting him. I don't think he sees it, or maybe he's hiding it but... I can see the strain on him. No one knows what kind of effects being close to Maotelus like that could have caused. He says he's become a Seraphim, but I'm not so sure." Mikleo hadn't yet spoken his concerns so clearly, and he wondered if it was just because Sorey wasn't there with them. 

The cold chill had nothing to do with the wind; Dezel knew this better than anyone. He scoffed, trying to bite back the vitriol he felt. There was nothing he could do but protect Sorey as best as he could and wonder how long it would be before he lost another chunk of memory, or died only to be spat out somewhere else. 

"What do you propose we do?" He asked finally, absently following the tendrils of wind that told him about the pilgrims now enjoying their rest, the other Seraphim in their peaceful lives going about their daily business. 

"I'm... not sure yet." Mikleo replied. 

"We'll think of something." All talk stifled itself at the sight of a long white cloak billowing in the wind at the entrance. 

Mikleo's eyes were all but trained for it, and he moved to go towards the shepherd, only for Dezel's hand to shoot out and stop him. "Who is that?" 

The man made his way into town and past several startled Seraphim before he collapsed. It was not Sorey, but a shepherd dressed in similar garb, though his Seraphim partners seemed to be nowhere to be seen. Dezel rushed after Mikleo, searching for the man's vital signs with his mind. 

"Where are the others? Where's Zaveid?" Dezel wasn't shy about where his mind was, or who he cared about. He'd always been that way—but the human seemed barely coherent as Mikleo rushed to heal him. 

"Go get Sorey." The water Seraph instructed. Dezel watched him stubbornly, mouth pulled into a frown. "I said, _Go. Get. Sorey_." 

He locked eyes with Mikleo for several moments as if he could see clearly enough to defy him, and then turned away, jogging for the entrance of the village with his boots aimed towards the ruins, and the village of Camlann beyond them.

**Author's Note:**

> And then they wake up to a confused and panicked older!Mikleo throwing the door open. 
> 
> (I wish I was joking)
> 
> Next chapter: Stages of Grief


End file.
